


where the past comes back to life

by chasingflower



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989), House M.D.
Genre: Crossover, Gen, warning for canon suicide (in this fic it's an attempt) - it's not graphic but pls stay safe, y'all i truly want to die why do i come up with the most obscure fics of all time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 08:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12128988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingflower/pseuds/chasingflower
Summary: Within a moment, he’s no longer James Wilson, Ph. D; but bright-eyed Neil Perry, drunk on words and founder of the new Dead Poets Society.And Todd Anderson is laying on the bed.





	where the past comes back to life

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone!!! i have no idea what this is but i hope u all like it anyway!!!
> 
> title from clarity by zedd

It’s a mess, that’s what it is. The crimson gets soaked into the perfect and pristine rug by the desk, pools on the rich wood floor. His head is swimming, and the gun in his hand feels too heavy. It feels slick and he leans over to retch, and he tastes salt on his tongue.

He fucking _missed_.

++

He’s still sent away, far away, this time, and his dad demands that he changes his name. Out of spite he decides with James Wilson, his mother’s estranged brother’s name (for being gay, he thinks hysterically, and that he might be as well).

++

He isn’t sent to military school, not quite, but he is still sent to medical school. He gets the grades and graduates from Harvard with a degree in oncology.

He wishes his friends would contact him.

++

See, while Neil was indisposed, his father told the school that his son would not be continuing his schooling there. He said that his son had killed himself, and he wanted Mr. Keating held responsible.

++

A funeral was held, closed casket (for there was no body in the first place), held a week from the play. In other words, the day of his birth.

Neil doesn’t find out.

++

He applies for a job where he hears tall tales of a Dr. House and of impossible diagnoses. He hopes that he’s allowed to have a distraction from his yearning to act, and the quiet desperation that he hasn’t had a real friend since high school.

++

It’s been years. He hasn’t forgotten, the words _carpe diem_ sound in his skull on particularly hard days. But he’s doing okay. He’s got friends, and a steady job that he’s good at, and a letter he got this morning that his father had fucking kicked the bucket.

He has a flyer in his office of a play around the block, and his skin is itching and his heart is beating with desire and want. He wants to feel _alive_ – he feels like he has a purpose to others, and he enjoys that – but he wants his blood pounding and he wants to be blinded by the spotlights.

But he’s a doctor now, and House is paging him for some ungodly reason, so he sighs wistfully and makes his way through the hospital.

++

None of the symptoms on the board sound like cancer, so he sighs and sits in one of the chairs in resignation.

Cameron looks at him in concern, and he smiles at her in an attempt to assuage her. But she’s a doctor as well, so he knows he’s not fooling anyone.

House is bored, most likely, and he doesn’t have any appointments for a while, so he’ll indulge in his friend’s behavior.

++

He’s to get consent from the gentleman, and why he’s tasked with that is beyond his understanding. Maybe he owes House a favor and he’s cashing in (if anything, House owes him a favor). He looks at the patient chart and freezes in the hallway. His blood rushes in his ears and he can’t fucking see –

He turns around and makes his way to House’s office.

++

“Has he, has he any chance of surviving,” he chokes out, because God, he’s so close to his friends, only for them to die in front of his eyes.

++

He’s told that they don’t know what’s wrong. They don’t know what’s fucking wrong, and it’s Wilson’s job to get the consent so they can perform the MRI.

He thinks it’s a sick joke, and House tells him to go, because the other members of his team are busy helping the OR team.

++

_Carpe diem_ , he thinks, and he walks into the room. They’re all there.

++

Within a moment, he’s no longer James Wilson, Ph. D; but bright-eyed Neil Perry, drunk on words and founder of the new Dead Poets Society.

And Todd Anderson is laying on the bed.

++

They look at him as if he’s a ghost. He feels like he could be.

++

They look at him in awe. In amazement. There’s a hint of horror too. Todd croaks out his name, and Wilson nods, fumbling with his hands and the clipboard in it.

Charlie – Nuwanda – goes over and punches him in the nose.

++

There’s a flurry in the room – Todd sits up as best he can to yell abuse at Charlie; Knox, Pitts and Meeks holding Charlie back. Wilson’s long ago dropped the patient report, and is now holding his bleeding (and probably broken – good thing he’s in a hospital) nose to try and stop the flow.

Chase walks in at that moment, to all of the shouts and raised voices. He seems more shocked than anything, and tells Wilson he’s calling security. Wilson tells him no, he’s got the situation handled (when that is the very last thing he does – it’s probably the worst lie he’s ever told in his life) and Chase walks out, suspicious, but agrees.

++

Apparently his father told everyone that he had killed himself. They held a funeral for him, Todd tells him, and that they properly mourned him.

They held the funeral while he was in a coma, and his fury for his father increases ten-fold.

He tells them what happened, the entire fucking story, and when Charlie grins slightly and mentions that there’s a show waiting for auditions the mood becomes less grim.

++

He leaves the room with the signed papers and hollers of _carpe diem_ that echo through the halls.


End file.
